Pantsuits and Small Knives
by RedPistachio
Summary: Brigadier General Armstrong's set on catching the Northern ripper when given spare time. PreBriggs Arc.


The certain blonde in question didn't usually find herself in bars, nor did she often habit caverns and she most certainly didn't hang out in pubs. It wasn't all by choice though, as she was usually situated behind a desk, which in turn was behind a door with a gold door-marker labelling 'Brigadier General Armstrong".

Being called to Northern Head Quarters for the week though gave her more free time, less to worry about. It was a usual inspection, simple meetings about the going ons in the North. All northern military station commanders had to attend, an annual thing.

A normal over worked and over paid woman with nearly a week of free time would have used the hours to pamper themselves. Olivier was no different, save for on tiny detail; the blonde considered hunting down serial killers alone pampering herself.

It was more of an odd pastime, but the woman was obsessed with her work. If she was taken away from her desk then she'd simply be on the field. And when she was promoted for single handily capturing the serial rapist and killer that was the Norths biggest civilian problem, she would send a picture home to her parents, still complaining about not seeing their daughter enough.

In the past three months more then seven women had been found sliced and diced in an alley, usually to disfigured to be identified, and all had been found near the pub she was currently inhabiting.

All was agreeing with her now, she'd been situated alone at the bar with some book in the pub for about an hour, and had watched a man in the corner leer at every woman that entered in a skirt. She was wearing a grey pant suit- less attractive and far more efficient. The suit also meant she'd be less of a target, and could more easily track the sandy haired man and whatever prey he had chosen for tonight.

"Hey there sweetheart." The words brought Olivier out of her pensive, and her view of the sandy haired man was partially blocked by a man nearly three tomes as big. His grease stained tee shirt covered by an equally bad leather jacket, ratty moustache, and mohawk styled hair would've stood out if it were Central.

He had peeled himself away from a group of friends who sat in the opposite corner of the pub, and she recognized him as the eyes she'd been feeling on the back of her neck for the past half hour.

"I'll take a water." The man snorted to the bartender, sparing the poor middle-aged man a glance before shifting his eyes back to the blonde. "You planning on leaving with anyone?" he shot at her.

Olivier took a moment to scan his hands as he accepted the water from the bartender- a pair of brown stained white gloves, before glancing up at him. Or over his shoulder where he was still obscuring her target view.

"Not with you." She replied cooly, taking a sip from one of her glasses. She'd ordered both a light beer and a water, even if the beer was only there for manners.

The moustached man had a twinkle in his eyes and he bent down under the pretence of brushing a hair behind her ear."As long as you do't go after that guy," Her eyes swiftly left the sandy haired man and scanned the raven hair one. "he ain't nothin' but trouble fer you, you hear?"

"Maybe I like trouble." The response she gave was immediate, though a frown graced her expression before he had even finished speaking.

This man had not fit the profile she had made for the Northern ripper- a name she had not come up with. The killer wasn't supposed not be that tall, or muscular for that. The man was supposed to kill because he was emasculated at work, and at home. And she was not his m.o, all his victims had been in a dress or skirt. The man in front of her with the pathetic moustache was not the Northern ripper.

He let out a bark of laughter, but his eyes had become more serious then before, there was a hint of aggression instead of a twinkle of amusement now. Leaning in closer to her, though not too close, he had finally blocked the sandy haired man from view completely, something that made Olivier frown.

"Think ya like livin' more, don'tcha?" Armstrong fully considered the man now. He had to be military, or at least police, as his voice had dropped to a near whisper, and his drink wasn't the type a man of his character would have on a night out with the boys.

That meant he was in undercover, and 'the boys' were his team. So she wouldn't get credit for this capture then. Now she just need to know if he was deliberately taking the capture from her, or if it was a genuine warning given to keep her alive.

"Promise me, sweetheart. Go home an' read yer book, don't go home with tha' clown." His voice was so low, so forcefull, Olivier knew it wasn't an argument she'd win without loosing her own cover.

"Fine." She replied, a touch of reproach in her voice, now only wanting him to leave her alone.

With a satisfied smirk, and an even more satisfied nod, he pushed himself away from the bar, pausing only to give her a wolfish grin, "Hope next time I see you, I'll get'cha in a dress. Should've worn one tonight, me an' ah boys woulda loved somethin' prettier ta look at then tha' ugly suit."

Looking up with a full blown scowl at the man, she noticed that her original target had disappeared, and was able to guess what the ringing bell above the door meant. Dropping a hundred cens on the counter, Olivier followed the undercover group out of the pub, only a few paces behind.

"Hold it!" The large man who had been talking to Olivier (and somehow ended up at the front of the undercover group though he must've only left moments before the blonde) ordered, pulling a gun from underneath his brown leather coat. The man he was yelling at had a brunette woman in a long fur coat backed up against a wall, pinning her on both sides, it looked like he had a handgun in his left hand, aiming towards the woman's head.

"Amestris state military, you're under arrest, Marvin Hans. Don't run, we've got you surrounded." The man with a mohawk didn't notice the gun.

"Lieutenant Buccaneer!" Another man who'd been in the bar screeched at his commander. "He's got a gun!"

In a fluid motion Marvin grabbed the brunette by the neck and swung her round, pressing the gun to her forehead and snarling out orders over his hostages whimpers. "Come any closer and she's blown to bits! Try anything and I kill the girl."

Olivier scowled, it was a stupid move on both parties, and judging on Lieutenant Buccaneers expression, one he wasn't ready to deal with. The man had a scowl bigger than hers, and even in the cold climate she could see a bead of sweat glistening on his forehead. Pushing her way through the gaggle of silent soldiers, Olivier came to stand just in front of the Lieutenant, who cried out in fury.

"Get back, girl! This ain't somethin' a civilian-"

"This operation is now under my command." Armstrong cut him off cooly. A man from behind let out a yell of frustration."Unless you want to disobey direct orders from a General." She added dryly.

Marvin, who had been surprisingly quiet during the cluster that was the change of command, let out a bark of laughter. "You want this whores blood on your hands, sweetheart? Call off your dogs."He gave the hostage a little shake that made her lapse into another bout of tears and sputters for help.

"Sure." Armstrong shrugged carelessly, and the brunettes weeps got louder and more desperate . "Once you kill her it makes my job easier. You no longer have any advantage. You have no way of winning."

Marvin frowned at her words, looking round at each soldier, some of whom were just as shocked at the Generals words as he was. "You really aren't going to try and save her?" He asked aggressively, giving the girl another shake. This time though there was an underline of worry in his words.

"Why should I? It's one girl over a hundred. Letting you go would be stupid, her life means nothing to me." Olivier replied, crossing her arms over her chest. "Besides, even if I did let you go, the snipers would get you before you left this alley. You're a dead man either way."

Marvin paused, disbelief clearly showing on his face, then looked down at the girl in his grip.

"The military really doesn't give two shits about you, why should I?" He snapped, pushing her to the ground aggressively and throwing the gun to the side in favour of pulling out a knife from underneath his open jacket.

The moment was all Buccaneer needed, his own gun had been carefully aimed on Hans for the entire confrontation. Two shots were all he needed to get the man on the ground, one to his left wrist and the other to his right knee. The knife dropped feet from the brunette, who had been pulled away from the operation by two of the undercover men, and the remaining three men had jumped to handcuff Marvin and recite his rights.

Olivier let out a sigh and turned to leave, no longer finding a reason to waste her time at a finished operation.

"Hey." The moustached man called, grabbing one of her arms and frowning. "Yer tha' Briggs General, righ'?" He asked as she was forced to turn around and glower at him.

"Correct." She answered snidely, tugging her arm from his vice like grip. He dropped his hand from her immediately, and frowned.

"An' you were gonna let 'er die?" She noticed his thick northern accent more now, apparently he had been covering it slightly before. Giving him a once over she raised an eyebrow.

"If it came to that. " She started, glaring into his black eyes, sure that she showed not emotion. "But he prefers knives, it was a long shot that he'd let his last kill be with a gun."

The lieutenant broke into a smile, one that seemed to be to big for his face. "So you were distracting 'im, an' trusted we'd catch on."

Turning from him completely she started walking away, throwing her last words over her shoulder. "I have no clue what you're going on about. Get that lump to incarceration."

* * *

Three Months Later

* * *

New recruits always came in like a pack, usually a month or two after academy Graduation. This was the time that Central command decided that Briggs needed more help meaning the fort, that the tension between Drachma and Amestris had gotten bigger and they needed more. Surprisingly , they were right. Drachma had increased their attacks, and now parties usually found one or two Drachma spies a week, all were disposed of after information was rarely had transfers, however. It took more time for them to train the transfers, as all of those men thought that they already knew how to do their jobs, and didn't realize that Briggs required different things, and than Armstrong expected more than most Generals.

So the group of seven requested transfers came as a shock.

"Warrant Officer James Karley, Sergeant Tiberius Smith, Second Lieutenant Liam Howler, Second Lieutenant Nathaniel Frith, Warrant Officer Christopher Langlaw, Lieutenant Gavin Yale," A pause as she read off the next name again in her mind, "_Captain_ Peter Buccaneer."

She looked over each of the men carefully, trying to find a reason for deceit.

"You men were all on the Marvin Hans operation, correct?" She asked, looking at each stoic face, and watching each salute, hoping for some reaction.

"Yes Sir." The boys chorused back.

"And why did you request a transfer?"

In unison they all replied, "To protect our border from the Drachman advance."

With a sigh, Olivier clasped her hands behind her back, knowing a bull answer when she saw one. The undercover men had taken a liking to the mission, and possibly a liking to being under her command. Still, having more loyal subordinates was never a bad thing.

It was only after she had set them at ease that she noticed Buccaneers wide tooth smile.

"What, _Captain_?" She shot at him, unclasping her hands to fold her arms over her chest.

"Well, sir, as well as protectin' our border from 'em Drachmans, I still wanna getcha' in a dress." His smart response got him a swift kick to the calve, and ended with him doubled up on the floor, though he could still see the ghost of a smirk from behind her curtain of hair.


End file.
